Priscilla Royal - Sanctity of Hate

Thomas felt his face flush with anger and forced himself into silence lest he utter curses against Adelard’s father. However satisfying that might be, he knew that would only make the son defend Oseberne. Then an odd thought struck him, one that cooled his temper and pricked at him to question further.

“You say that your father hated all the deadly sins,” the monk said, his tone calmer than he believed possible. “The Jews have long been reviled as money-lenders, the practice of usury being forbidden to Christians. Did he consider the wealth they acquired as a form of thievery?”

Adelard cried out, his eyes narrowed as if he suffered great pain.

“Is it your wound? I shall call Sister Anne.”

“It is my soul that cried out, Brother.”

“Then ease it, my son, and speak the reason.” His own heart was pounding. What was he about to learn?

Adelard turned to Thomas, his face pale. “God has revealed my wickedness to you. My father did find their prosperity intolerable. He said they had no right to steal from Christians and for that reason he swore to recover what he could.”

“And did he?” Thomas could not believe what he was hearing.

“When the travelers came to the inn, he ordered me to find where they hid their treasures. From what I told him, he planned the thefts.” Adelard stared at the monk as if Thomas’ face glowed like that of Moses returning with the Ten Commandments. “When I said that some had no more possessions than a beggar, he spat in contempt and claimed Satan had blinded me. There was no crime in taking worldly goods from any Jew, he said, for they had all stolen to serve the Devil.”

So this was how the baker had acquired his growing wealth. For once, Sister Ruth had been right to question the providence of the golden candlestick for the altar at Tyndal. Prior Andrew had told him of the proposed gift and said he did not doubt that the gift was godly, even though the sub-prioress had. At the time, Thomas chose to ignore the nun’s suspicions as well. Now he was ashamed and wondered who the true owner of that proposed gift had been.

As he listened to Adelard describe how his father had stolen the items, Thomas was surprised that Oseberne had been more clever than most. Many would have flaunted their new affluence, but Oseberne had revealed his increased wealth slowly, improving his ovens to produce better bread and suggesting that the finer product had greater appeal to merchants who came to market days from outside the village.

“How did your father sell the purloined objects?” the monk asked, when Adelard stopped to take breath.

“Some he sold to passing merchants in return for coin or plate. Others he had melted down.” Adelard correctly read the expression on the monk’s face. “No one from the village did this. He found a man willing to ask no questions as long as he received extra for his silence. After the Jews no longer traveled these roads, I did not see the man again.”

Then nothing could be returned to the rightful owners, with the possible exception of one gold candlestick. Thomas uttered an oath under his breath. “And you hoped that your father’s deeds might remain hidden from the crowner?”

Adelard nodded, his face gray with suffering.

“I fear that is not possible, my son.”

But as much as Thomas longed to pursue this, he knew he must call Sister Anne to tend the youth now while he took this new information to his prioress. “You sinned,” he said, “but it was done at the request of your father. Surely you see the evil of your deeds, but God is pleased when a heart repents. Be comforted. When you confess to me, your soul will be cleansed, although you may find the penance hard.”

The youth’s eyelids fluttered shut.

“For the present, you must sleep,” the monk whispered. “Sister Anne will come to change your dressing. I shall return later. We can talk further then.”

Adelard mumbled a reply but fell asleep.

As Thomas looked at him, he knew he must still resolve the question of why the silver cross had been found near Brother Gwydo’s body. Turning to leave, he wondered how different this youth was from the hate-filled man who had fathered him. Maybe Adelard had killed Brother Gwydo, but he truly doubted it. Whatever the youth’s faults, and he owned virtue enough, Thomas also felt some hope that he might choose a kinder life than Oseberne had.

“Sometimes,” he murmured as he walked down the path to seek Prioress Eleanor, “I would like to believe that Man can be good.”

Eleanor listened as both Ralf and Thomas conveyed what they had learned. She sat quite still in her audience chair, but her gray eyes shifted restlessly between the two men.

The monk turned to Ralf. “Do you see any cause to doubt Master Jacob’s tale about Brother Gwydo? The story of their boyhood friendship could be confirmed, were you to question their old companions in Cambridge.”

“I think he was telling the truth,” Ralf said. “The man seems honest. After I left the house, I met Tostig on the way. He told me that he believed his prisoner to be a good man and that Master Jacob feared more for his family’s safety than his own. In my experience, a guilty man worries most about his own neck.”

“Or he may have decided he will hang simply because he is a Jew.” Thomas knew he had spoken with a sharper tone than intended. “Knowing there is no hope for himself, the man may well fear for those he loves.” Nor were these words any softer.

“Surely you do not think I would hang a man for murder just because he was not a good Christian?” The crowner’s tone was curt. “If so, most men would find ropes around their necks, and I might be nervous of my own.”

“I did not mean to offend. You have never sought the easy road to justice, Crowner, but others have,” the monk replied. “From what little I have seen of Master Jacob, I am inclined to agree with you and Tostig. Whatever his faith, he speaks and behaves like any upright man.”

Ralf looked ready to argue further, but Eleanor raised her hand. “We have no doubt of you, but your prisoner does not know your reputation for diligence in these matters. During the reign of King Richard, the sheriff of Yorkshire was complicit in the massacre of the Jews in York. That is but one example of the failure of the king’s law, and our current king has recently demonstrated an inclination to retreat further from the protection traditionally promised his people. Do you not think the Jewish community has seen the same thing and grown fearful for their safety in this realm?”

Deflating, the crowner nodded.

“Therefore, let us turn our wits to better purpose and consider the new information and possibilities. You have both spoken of several. Shall we not set them against the facts and consider where that might take us?” There was a hint of impatience in Eleanor’s voice. “Brother Gwydo was strangled and most certainly did not murder himself. His death after that of Kenelm suggests he was not the guard’s slayer, but I think it likely he saw something he ought not to have witnessed.”

“He might have aided another in Kenelm’s death.” Ralf looked uncomfortable.

“Even if he did, someone killed him as well. There is at least one killer who remains free, although reason suggests there is only one.” Eleanor looked at both monk and crowner.

They nodded although Thomas’ expression remained troubled.

“I also believe Mistress Gytha’s tale.” Eleanor’s tone remained even, although she watched Ralf carefully. “She could not have slit Kenelm’s throat, nor easily dragged him from the road to the priory millstream. Would you agree, Crowner?”

“She is a most honorable woman.” He glanced away.